


long playing

by harscrow



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy works at Sam Goody, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-08-23 20:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow
Summary: As soon as he enters the record store, he spots Billy’s blonde head and Scorps tank top from afar, and can’t help but smile at how busy he looks, all caught up with the new music releases. He doesn’t even notice Steve approaching until he steals the Aviators dangling from his back pocket to announce his presence.





	1. part I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little self-indulgent, but I missed my boys so here we go. My 2nd fanfic about them, yay!

For a few days now there has been this unspoken agreement between them, so Steve knows where to go at the end of his shift. The promise of his boyfriend waiting for him just on the floor above – at Sam Goody – makes dealing with an impossible amount of children more manageable, and Steve even more eager to jump out of his stupid sailor’s uniform. He keeps the shorts though, pleased with the effect of his bare thighs on Billy’s self-control.

As soon as he enters the record store, he spots Billy’s blonde head and Scorps tank top from afar, and can’t help but smile at how busy he looks, all caught up with the new music releases. He doesn’t even notice Steve approaching until he steals the Aviators dangling from his back pocket to announce his presence.

“Looking for that band you told me about? Superdeath?” Steve guesses, trying on the other’s sunglasses.

Doing his best not to crack a grin but failing miserably, Billy turns to look at him. He licks his bottom lip, code for ‘I wish I could kiss you right here right now’.

“It’s _Megadeth_. Can’t wait to hear Mustaine shredding, he blew my mind live, this beauty is coming with me today.” He grabs _Killing Is My Business_ and shows Steve the name on its cover. “Fuck, I miss all those gigs I crashed back home.”

With a pang in his heart, Steve realizes Billy still thinks of California as the place he belongs to. Not that he can entirely blame him, considering how easy it is to feel disconnected from Hawkins’ godforsaken hick nature.

“You know, there’s this gig tonight in my backyard. It’s the can’t-miss event of the season.”

Billy casts a curious glance at him, going along with whatever that is. “And I haven’t heard of it? No way.”

“Oh, it’s really exclusive, very hush-hush. A one-man-band kind of thing.”

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

“What can I say, I’m an exceptional kazoo player. Step aside, Mustaine.”

“These are mine, Navy boy.” Billy steals his Aviators back, hiding the appetite in his eyes behind dark lenses. “You put on a good show, and you might even get some groupies by the end of the night.”

Which is something Steve’s counting on, hung up as he is on this one particular fair-haired groupie with golden skin, sharp tongue and lips to die for. The sun is extremely generous with Billy during the season, paints him bright, vibrant colors, and Steve wants nothing more than to dip himself into his warmth.

“So, how was your day?” Billy asks when they leave the shop, fingers sneaking under the hem of Steve’s shorts for an all but casual caress.

“Insane. I’m starting to get sea sickness on dry land.” He says, wide eyes conveying the horror of every ‘ahoy’ he had to repeat in the last six hours.

Outside the mall – as they get in their respective cars – dusk casts its serene, orange curtain on the half full parking lot. The Camaro roars first, and Steve knows what that means. _I’ll race you to your own place, Harrington._

__

__

* * *

__

Later that night, by the pool, Steve doesn’t play any kazoo, but Alphaville’s soothing synths come out of his stereo. Still mellow from the joint they shared, Billy sits naked on his lap, nuzzling his neck. He grinds against him, lazy and lewd, sinking into the sensorial delight of Steve’s clean scent and solid grip on his hips. Those gentle hands turn his demons liquid, evanescent, and Billy can feel them dripping out of his fucked up head with every kiss Steve scatters down his jaw.

As the water ripples quietly, Billy almost stops missing the beaches in San Fran. He forgets about the hole his mom’s death carved in his soul, because when Steve loves him so hard, so thoroughly, he feels whole again. He pretends no one is waiting for him at the unwelcoming, cramped house up Old Cherry Road, eyeing the wall clock to decide what punishment he’s going to get for being late _again_. He’s blissed out enough not to care, but Steve does.

“Baby, I think it’s time.” He says, fingertips slow dancing up and down his spine.

“Don’t wanna.” Billy mumbles, pressing tighter against him, face buried in his dark locks. “God, your hair is soft. So nice.”

Giggling, Steve shifts to look at Billy’s face. “Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?”

Parting with Steve will break the spell that tames the angry beast scratching at his heart, and Billy just _needs_ to hold on to him a little bit longer. Intent on burning into his memory how perfectly the moonbeams trace Steve’s chiseled features, Billy hesitates for a moment, palms resting on his chest as he takes in all that silver and light and effortless _royalty_.

“Wanna make you come again.” It’s what he whispers, licking his lips.

“Woah, alright. He’s back.” Cupping Billy’s nape, Steve beckons him for an avid kiss.

After unrolling a condom down the other’s shaft, Billy straddles him with pride, thick eyelashes fluttering as his hand guides Steve’s cock between his ass cheeks, and he tightens around him. Still sensitive from the sex they had earlier, Billy rolls his pelvis to slide against the length, whimpering at every brush against his hole.

Raptured, mesmerized by so much beauty, Steve can’t take his eyes off of him. Billy’s bottom lip is ripe, tempting under his touch, and so pliant when he slips a couple fingers into his mouth. Billy’s tongue wraps them in a wet embrace, some feral, languid greed in the way he sucks. Steve closes his fist around Billy’s cock, fingers slick with spit and precome, and the blonde bucks into it.

“Steve… Fuck.”

Billy blindly reaches for the bottle of lube next to the lounger, anxious to get some on his palm. Hand behind his back, he gives Steve’s cock a few pumps and lowers himself onto it. He takes him in smoothly, slowly, fingertips digging into Steve’s shoulders. Stretched and filled, Billy picks up the pace until he’s riding him hard, fucking himself with vicious urge and Steve’s fingers around his length.

A shared wilderness glistens in their eyes, the fire of a challenge pushing them to outdo each other. It’s fast and mean and consuming, and the aftermath leaves them both spent, shaking, choking on pleasure. Not sure who the winner is, but they don’t give a damn anymore.

Caging Steve in, Billy’s thighs are searing to the touch, throbbing with fatigue. He gets up to grab a towel, cleaning Steve’s stomach a valid excuse to have a few more minutes to tend to him. “You still owe me a proper gig.” He observes, hoarse from all the moaning. “When will you pick up that guitar in your bedroom?”

Steve runs his fingers through his damp hair, slouching in the lounger. “You know I haven’t played in years. I’m not… really good at it?”

“Think about how hard you’re gonna get my dick, man.” Billy smirks, straddling Steve again to wipe his stomach. “That should be motivation enough.”

Quite insecure about it, Steve shakes his head. “It’s just a stupid acoustic guitar, and I’m no rockstar.”

“I know. You’re a king.”

Billy stands up again to avoid any talk about his sappy side, and starts collecting his clothes, immediately followed by Steve – who’s got the biggest grin on his face. Sometimes Billy has a way with words, speaking of things Steve would believe mockeries if it weren’t for the absolute honesty of his boyfriend’s flushed cheeks.

Glancing up at him, Billy zips his fly in a hurry and fastens his belt buckle. “See you tomorrow, alright?”

“I miss you already.” Steve pouts, both hands on his heart. And behind the silly façade, he really means what he said.

“Shut up, Harrington.” Billy scoffs, pretends not to be affected, but gives him a peck that leads to another – less chaste – kiss. “Shut up.” He whispers, his breath lingering on Steve’s lips like a wave resting ashore, in the end tragically forced to pull back.

Steve walks Billy to the Camaro parked down the driveway, and watches as the car gets past the gate. Once the punchy engine noise fades in the distance, silence engulfs Harrington house. Steve is alone again, not even the sound of cicadas to keep him company. There’s no breeze at all, and yet a shudder courses through his bones.

Billy too, wishes he didn’t have to go. He spends the whole ride unsure whether to speed up or slow down. He cruises the streets in a town where there’s barely any soul in sight that time of night, and the increasing sense of loneliness only wears off when he puts on his _Ride The Lightning_ cassette. Billy still hates this place.

He knows it’s paranoid thinking, but he makes sure to keep the volume down as soon as he turns into Old Cherry Road. He parks by stealth, hissing a curse at the damn tires crunching on the damn gravel. Lights are already out at his house, last thing he needs is to wake up his dad and face the consequences. Everything appears to be still, though. Silent, even as he leaves the car and goes for the front door.

The couple minutes it takes for him to carefully put the key in the lock and sneak into his bedroom feel like an eternity. Billy’s finally sure he’s off the hook just once out of his clothes and tucked in bed. He had sex with Steve twice that night, and the bastard will never know. With a sigh of relief, he clutches his pillow and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the second part.
> 
> You can also find me at billyhargrrrove.tumblr.com :)


	2. part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you waiting so long but - sadly - uni happened and kept me from enjoying and creating things in life.  
> But here I am, finally :)

The alarm goes off and Billy knows the day is cursed as soon as he opens his eyes. Neil is _there_ , standing in front of the shelves, apparently intent on examining all the stuff his son hoarded. Books, tapes, metal magazines.

“You think I didn’t notice how late you come back at night? It’s been a week now.” Neil picks a copy of _Hit Parader_ , flips through its pages. “Where do you go?”

Uneasy, Billy sits up among crumpled sheets, waiting for the blow. His old man doesn’t turn around. ‘He knows,’ his gut tells him, ‘he knows how I like it.’

The beast that dwells in Billy’s heart – the one only Steve puts to sleep – now unlimbers its muscles. Perceptive, awoken by his accelerated pulse. “Jus’ hanging out.”

“Where.”

Unfazed, Neil keeps skimming the magazine, as if the pages his son touched hold some dirty little secret, some proof of his suspicions. Billy can only see part of his face, the stern line of his mouth, his clenched jaw. He needs to close his eyes, pray for his old man to disappear like some nightmare would, and open them again. He tries, it doesn’t work.

“Just… Wherever other guys hang out.” Billy manages, his throat dry, tight as hell. Under Neil’s cruel stare he’s sore in places that ignite his guilt, make him feel as much a disgusting queer as his father accuses him to be. And he hates that. He hates that because he loves Steve more than he can possibly put into words.

__

_ Killing Is My Business _ still sits in the shop’s paper bag, unlistened, untouched. Until Neil decides to take it out and have a look at it. “You keep wasting money on this useless crap.”

“It’s _not_ useless!” Billy growls, tired of being questioned, dissected. Tired of anger corroding his every coherent thought.

His whole being itches for a fight, anything to get his father’s hands off his stuff and end the inquisition. ‘Fuck you.’ He wants to yell, but his mouth stays shut. The moment Neil’s straightens his back, Billy shrinks, returns to being a scared little boy that never wanted to disappoint his dad. A kid that just wished to be loved, and accepted, and encouraged by the only parent he’s got left. Still to this day, despite every slap, every insult. Sometimes Billy thinks he must be broken, dysfunctional, for still chasing after a monster’s approval.

“Listening to these no-good junkies is not gonna help you in life.” The man explains. “Discipline will. And despite all my efforts, you show a disturbing lack of it.” Neil’s voice is cold, as firm as his hand pulling the disc out of its sleeve.

He finally turns to look at Billy, and throws the record against the wall, the explosion sending vinyl shards across the room. It’s so quick Billy needs a few seconds to process what just happened.

“The hell are you doing? You have no-”

“No right? You live under my goddamn roof, I do have the right.” It’s scary, so scary when Neil raises his voice, and Billy starts wondering which desolate pit he’s gonna find himself buried in. “I ask you a question, I expect a response. You don’t get to be vague. Who are you hanging out with?”

Petrified, Billy’s incapable of telling a lie. He can’t expose Steve, can’t let any harm come his way. So he doesn’t say anything at all.

“Nothing comes to mind?” Neil heads toward Billy’s vinyls collection. There’s a change of pace in his movements now. He’s quicker, surgically methodical as he takes each disc out of its sleeve and shatters them all. One by one.

Billy can’t bear to look. Broken bones would hurt less than this. The beast in his heart roars, claws at his insides, makes a mess out of everything in its path, but Billy doesn’t move. Still in his underwear – the ghost of Steve’s touch scorching his skin – he takes the abuse because he deserves it, because his dad is right to be mad, to be ashamed of him. But when Neil grabs that one record he shouldn’t even lay his fingers on, Billy uses what little air’s left in his lungs to scream.

“That’s mom’s!” He sprints, running barefoot on a carpet of sharp black shards. He couldn’t care less, as he grabs onto his father’s arm. “Don’t. Please don’t, sir.”

Through eyes glistening with tears, Billy almost mistakes the disgust on the man’s face for something else. Something resembling remorse, or even grief.

“Still clinging to his dead mother’s skirts like a little bitch.” Neil hisses.

Billy shakes his head. Shivering, begging. “Please.”

“Man up.”

It’s done, Billy thinks. He closes his eyes, preparing to hear the vinyl snap in half, and his soul with it. It all unfolds at the same time. Tears roll down his cheeks, and Neil slips the record back in its sleeve, shoving it against Billy’s chest. His hands grown unsteady, anxious to get rid of it.

“I catch you with some other faggot _again_ , boy, and you’re dead. I didn’t bring you into this world to embarrass me.” With that explicit threat, the man walks right past his son and out of there.

Billy clutches the miraculously undamaged record, holds it to his chest. As soon as Neil steps out of the room, he breaks down, sobbing so quietly not even God could hear. Because boys don’t cry.

He’s not sure how many minutes he spends like that, but by the time his tears dry up Neil and Susan already left for work, and Max woke up.

“What happened?” She asks groggily – still in her pajamas – lingering in the doorframe.

“What do you think?” Billy puts down _News of the World_ and glares at Max. Catching her looking at the room – her curious eyes scooping the damage Neil left in his wake – Billy grows twitchy. His pain feels more uncomfortable when someone else is there to witness it. “Get the fuck outta here. I don’t need your pity.”

Max rolls her eyes. “You’re right, asshole, you don’t.”

And just like that, she’s gone. Billy is grateful, but even more so when his stepsister comes back shortly after, holding a broom and a dustpan. “But you sure need a hand.”

Billy’s come to appreciate her stubbornness, a trait he despised in her at first. They are similar in ways he refused to see when he got stuck with a new family he didn’t ask for. It’s been half a year since he last yelled at her, but he’s still confused as to why Max is so willing to help him.

“Shouldn’t you be at work? I can take care of this.” She offers, watching her step as she starts sweeping up.

The more she lived under that roof, the more she saw, the more she understood Billy. She even addressed the elephant in the room once, asking him if he’s ever thought about talking to Chief Hopper. When Billy vehemently opposed the idea, she never brought it up again, mainly because he gripped the steering wheel so tight she thought he was going to lash out at her. He didn’t. And in the end she couldn’t but respect his struggle, and try to be less of a problem for him. After all, he kept covering her ass whenever she hung out with Lucas, something she learned Neil would not be so happy about.

Billy shrugs, picking up the biggest shards. He has to force himself to toss them in the trash can. There go Diamond Head and Tank. “I don’t wanna. Don’t feel like being in that store today.”

“Does he… know?” Max hesitates, staring at the floor. “About Steve?”

The grim impression of a laughter escapes Billy’s throat. “If he knew, he’d be burying my dead body right now.”

* * *

On the plus side, his shift is only gonna last half a day. On the downside, it feels almost like school, when you keep eyeing the clock on the wall, unhappy with the painfully slow flow of time. And then you shoot a glance at your wristwatch too, hoping for some magic, but end up being disappointed again because time seems to be mocking you by going backwards. Except Steve is not _exactly_ waiting for the bell to ring, but rather for the moment he gets to be with Billy. They are going to have lunch together and hold hands under the table when the waiter is not around to see.

At first Steve thought it’d be harder to soften Billy’s edges, and he still can’t believe how wrong he was. For being so aggressive, stubborn and overly competitive, Billy also proved to have the most generous heart and a knack for love. Steve has never felt so desired before, and what’s surprising is it has very little to do with sex. Billy is still the very definition of danger, but he bleeds light whenever he looks up at Steve to just smile. To just say ‘king Steve’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘I love you’. All Steve had to do was care for him, and this time it didn’t backfire, it didn’t turn _bullshit_.

“Got somewhere to be?” Robin asks, casually munching on a decorative waffle stick and offering him another one.

Steve accepts, bites into it and lets the chocolate filling carry his impatience away. He’s always had a sweet tooth. “Yeah, uh- I’m meeting with my friend.”

“Who, blondie?” The girl inquires, eyes all too brisk. “I like him.”

“Me too.” Steve sighs, only to freeze shortly after at the words that just slipped out of his mouth. In an attempt to cover up, he starts babbling, waving his waffle stick back and forth. “I mean, yeah? That’s why we’re _friends_. Friends like each other, or they wouldn’t be friends in the first place.”

A sly little smile creeps on Robin’s face. “I guess.” She seems to be content with that, but what Steve doesn’t know is that she can read people very well and she figured everything out the first time she saw them together. It’s not even like the two of them have been particularly subtle, despite their efforts to _try_.

Later, finally free of his prison – ridiculous sailor uniform secured in a backpack, and chest swelling with excitement – Steve scans across the Sam Goody shop, but there’s no sign of Billy. When he asks the checker, he finds out that Billy never showed up that morning. Alarmed by the information, Steve rushes to the parking lot. Heart pounding as he starts the car, he indulges the feeling that something bad must have happened, something that starts with Neil and ends with Hargrove, and Steve can’t physically bear the thought of it.

Sooner than he knows he’s speeding up Old Cherry Road, trying to remember the most effective way to punch someone. Billy taught him a couple things last April. _‘You can’t keep getting your ass knocked down in a fistfight, king Steve. I simply won’t allow it.’_ He insisted, and proceeded to show him a few useful tricks. But after that, Steve didn’t really get the chance to practice what he learned.

Arrived at destination, Steve notices that Neil’s car not there, but the Camaro is. Maybe that’s for the best. He never got to ask himself what to do after punching that asshole in the face, what would come next. When he rings at the door, Billy seems to take his time to open.

“Hey.” The blonde says, surprised to see him at his doorstep. It only takes him a quick look to understand. He should have known Steve would get worried… And there he is, playing detective Harrington. “What are you doing here?” He asks anyway.

Steve steps closer to inspect Billy’s face. No shiner, but that’s not enough to reassure him. Most of the time, bruises hide themselves under Billy’s shirt. Or even deeper than that; under his skin, into his bones.

“I thought you were working today.” Steve says, following him inside.

“Yeah, no… I was busy.” Hoarse and elusive, Billy retreats to his room.

Steve has spent enough time around him to learn that Billy is a good liar, an excellent poseur, but not with him anymore. Once Billy had poured all of himself out for Steve to see, the trick was over. He became innocent, transparent, even with his back turned as he is now.

“What’s really going on?” Steve sighs, closing in, hand resting on Billy’s shoulder. He feels him tensing, shifting abruptly.

“Look, I’m fine.” Billy blurts out. He pulls his shirt off, turns around to let Steve’s gaze inspect him. “See? I’m good. Christ.”

When the blonde plops down on the bed, Steve does the same and reaches for his hand, voice softening into a whisper. “Baby, you can talk to me.”

It’s not that Billy wants to deny himself the emotional catharsis that Steve’s attentions grant his damaged heart. He just doesn’t know how to reconcile his need to be cared for with the beast gnawing at his sanity, growling into his conscience that he doesn’t deserve any of that.

“I know.” He tries, because lying by omission to Steve hurts just as much. So he talks, fighting that tingly sensation in his nose that means he’s going to cry again. “It’s just- It’s nothing. Doesn’t matter. I gotta man up.”

“Don’t let _him_ dictate that. He doesn’t know anything about being a man.” With a resolute undertone in his voice, Steve lets his finger trace the lines on Billy’s palm, the veins on his wrist. It’s a delicate, soothing ritual, and it comforts them both. “Your feelings always matter.”

Billy curls his fingers, trapping Steve’s under his gentle touch. “He- He broke my records. Only one I got left is the last record my mom bought, before she-”

When Billy trails off, falling into an old habit, Steve is there to catch him and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Caressing his silent tears away, Steve breathes slowly, taking in Billy’s pain as his own.

“I can’t stand the silence, Steve. I need to fill it with something or I just-” Billy shakes his head, struggling with his words. It’s complicated, and it might not make sense to Steve. It’s just music. Except it’s not. “Silence, hearing nothing but my thoughts, it drives me crazy. Music helps, it’s the one thing that helps. And he wants to take it away. I still got my tapes but how long’s that gonna last?”

Billy looks up at him, his red eyes – framed by eyelashes thick with tears – nothing but a limpid cry for help. Steve holds him tight, keeps kissing his temple, and Billy doesn’t stop talking.

“Somehow he knows. He knows I’m seeing a guy, and he’s gonna keep… doing this until there’s nothing left. Of my music, of me. Fuck.” Billy sniffles, anger mounting in his stomach. He grabs onto Steve’s shirt, shame choking him once again. “This is so stupid. I am so stupid, crying over some vinyls. I’m not- I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“It’s not stupid, baby. Don’t talk to yourself like that.” Steve tips Billy’s head up and gently tucks a rebellious curl behind his ear. “Let me try and fix this day, hm? What time does the bastard come back?”

“Around five.”

Steve glances at his watch. “Good, we got time. Max is here, right?”

“Yeah, she’s in her room.”

“Then we can have lunch together. I’ll cook and do the dishes. Chef Harrington’s officially in charge now. Deal? You guys pick some funny movie to watch.”

Billy nods, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t even notice he’s smiling until Steve points that out.

“That’s the man I fell in love with. First time you smiled, and I mean _really_ smiled, I knew I was a fool for you.”

“I love you.” Billy sighs, leaning in for a kiss. ‘Thanks for calling me a man,’ he would add, but doesn’t. “I’ll go call my sister.”

He gets up, puts his shirt back on, but Steve grabs him by the wrist before he does anything else.

“I get it, by the way. I hate silence too. Especially at night.”

Frowning, Billy watches him rise from the bed. That’s the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Why?”

“It makes me hyper-aware of my surroundings. Of what might hide in the dark.” Steve shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but he’s well aware that this is a desperate attempt to put on the table some glimpse of his worst truth, and it makes him nervous.

“Who would have thought, king Steve is afraid of monsters.” Billy giggles, his right hand sliding up to Steve’s heart. Hypnotized by the rhythm of life pumping through Steve’s chest, Billy kisses his mouth again. Slow, calm as daybreak. Blue eyes meet brown ones, and Billy swears his oath. “You shouldn’t be. Cause I’ll kill anyone, _anything_ , that tries to hurt you. And I need you to know that.”

Steve is relieved that Billy simply seems to get it, whatever the actual shape of those monsters might be. No sane person would ever believe him if he started rambling about demogorgons and stuff like that, and Steve prays that Billy will never have to find out about the Upside Down himself. In the meantime, this is the most comforted he’s felt in a while. Years, probably.

“You know our future house is gonna be filled with music, right? Piles and piles of vinyls and cassettes, and posters on the walls. Our neighbors are gonna hate us.” He promises, because thinking about the future in Billy’s arms tastes like hope, and faith, and happiness.

“Our future house, Harrington? You think you can put up with me that long?”

“It depends. Can you put up with me strumming my guitar and singing you silly love songs with cheesy rhymes that I’ll spend way too much time on?”

“Hell yeah, I can. Start strumming, pretty boy.”


End file.
